


The Summer Wind

by JuliaBC



Category: Zorro (TV 1957)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBC/pseuds/JuliaBC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WDZ. A retelling of the Estevan storyline. Estevan de la Cruz comes to Los Angeles to shake things up, but never does he expect that the most changes will happen to him, of all people. Diego/Margarita/Estevan love triangle, of sorts. Varying POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Way It Should Begin

The Summer Wind by JuliaBC

Chapter One

A/N: I just want to say, this is a very heavy AU, even though it's also heavily based on the episodes.

The way I portray Margarita...I see this in her. I believe all that I say in regards to her choices in life. But you might not agree with that 'translation' of the character.

**_Don Diego de la Vega_ **

Diego had three thoughts that alerted him to the fact that something terrifying was happening.

One was that Estevan was spending quite a lot of time showing off a bag of jewels he'd brought with him.

Two was that he'd danced more than two dances with Margarita Cortazar, and if he didn't watch out, she would be the talk of the little pueblo in the next few days, for reasons that might be detrimental to her reputation.

Three was that he'd pawned Margarita off on Diego.

Three was that Margarita looked beautiful, as always. Three was that Margarita's dress was fluttering between his legs in a way that made him feel dizzy. Three was that she was laughing at something his father told them in passing and he didn't remember ever being affected by her laugh thusly before tonight. It was like liquid fire was being poured into his veins at the sound. There was a rushing noise in his ears as he looked down at her, sipping a glass of punch with her lips pursed.

He'd never seen her like this before.

Correction. He had seen her like this before; Margarita was always one to enjoy a fiesta, and enjoy it very heartily.

But he had never actually seen Margarita as he saw her now.

As a woman, not a childhood friend.

He remembered Estevan's parting words as he shoved Margarita into Diego's arms. Beautiful young ladies and handsome young men belong to each other.

Was that all it had taken?

Some well chosen words; not even a suggestion, to make Diego think of possibilities with Margarita.

Real possibilities.

After all, Margarita had never been one to dismiss the fake Diego. She had taken his changes when he returned to Los Angeles in stride, but perhaps that was simply because she had changed herself.

Though she still loved life, since her mother had passed, there was a quietness to her that surprised all of those around her. She had once been predicted to be the first to marry (he had even received a letter from his father saying that a handsome stranger had come to Los Angeles and was about to sweep Margarita away from them all, taking her back to Spain with him, but Margarita had quietly declined his proposal…as she had declined every other proposal that had come her way in the years after her mother's death.)

Diego was, maybe, not surprised at this. He had trained himself to see people better since he became Zorro, and now when he looked at Margarita, he saw fear.

She lived for the party. She loved the party. But only because the party ended. Only because she could go home to her mother's hacienda, because her comforting father waited for her at the night's end, and not a mustached husband.

So it was simple to see why she was choosing to remain alone. Why the many men who'd dared to ask for her hand were given a sweet, but final, refusal.

"I asked her to marry me, and she looks at me and says, what for?"

The words of an old friend came to Diego and he looked at Margarita ever closer as they spun among the dancers. They hadn't been spoken about Margarita, but Diego was thinking that they might apply…

Margarita already had fun, adventure and love in her life. What could marriage give her besides children? And she was one to visit the missions and play with the Indian children, so that was taken care of quite easily.

Diego tightened his grip on Margarita's hand; she didn't have small hands as did Rosarita and Moneta, other girls from his childhood. Margarita's hands did not match Diego's in largeness, but it made quite an impression on him to look down at them, and realize that his did not entirely dwarf hers as was usually the case.

The dance floor grew more crowded and Diego, with the gentlest push on her waist, guided her smoothly toward him, away from the jostling men behind her.

"It's quite a party, considering that it is so last minute," Margarita commented.

"My uncle made sure every person he met along the way was invited," Diego said. "Such as his fellow travelers, and even the coach driver. The more, the merrier was his philosophy, I believe."

"It's a lovely philosophy," Margarita agreed, her eyes twinkling up at Diego.

"Si," Diego said, finding words failed him.

Then silence again fell over the couple. Margarita glanced shyly up at him a few times, as if testing her courage.

"What is it, Margarita?" He asked. "Do not hesitate to speak."

She flushed as he continued to spin her around, the bouncing movements of the dance carrying them across the floor. "Your uncle…do you know why never married?"

Diego found that he couldn't answer. Obvious things sprung to his mind.

He never had the inclination.

He never had the guts.

He never found the right woman. He just pretended to.

"Well…why do you ask?" He stumbled, wondering why her question troubled him so. Did he really mind her interest in his uncle? After all, it could only be good thing for Margarita to show interest in something new, something solid.

But Estevan! He was such a scoundrel, a true thief of women's hearts.

Diego tried to convince himself that that was why her interest bothered him, but he hadn't quite made it to that point when his father saved him, as usual. He broke into the dance, bowing to Margarita.

"A thousand pardons!" Don Alejandro announced, and Diego automatically kissed Margarita's hand; this was the protocol for breaking dances.

His father's eyes widened; he also saw Margarita hesitate, as though wondering why his father was breaking into their dance. Si, he asked many women to dance, but not usually in the middle of his son's dance! After all, Alejandro was like all of the other fathers in the pueblo, he wanted grandchildren.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," Alejandro stuttered, his eyes also widening at how this must appear. Diego found himself stifling a laugh at the picture they must make. "I must speak with you, Diego. It is urgent. You will excuse us?"

Everything was explained.

Margarita relaxed visibly. Perhaps she thought Don Alejandro would try to convince her that now was the time to announce her engagement to Diego. After all, he had tried to pull almost the same trick two years ago with Magdalena…

"Of course, Don Alejandro," Margarita replied. Diego saw her eyes drift into the crowd as he kissed her hand. "Gracias, Margarita," he managed to say before his father dragged him off.

He saw that she was claimed by another partner before he'd even exited the dance floor.

For some reason, this troubled him.

**_Margarita Cortazar_ **

Diego walked away with his father and Luis Ramirez walked over. "Can we finish our dance now?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"Of course," she said. "I did not know so many of my dances would be interrupted this evening!"

"You might have prepared for it, had that been the case," Luis teased.

"I don't think any woman could prepare for it," Margarita countered. "After all, I don't think any person at all, male or female, could prepare for the whirlwind that is Don Estevan de la Cruz!"

Luis grinned, ducking a branch as they danced. "But it's a very pleasant whirlwind, I can tell that you think so, so do not deny it, Margarita!"

"I will not deny," she answered. "And my father likes him too."

Luis's eyes sparked at her. "Is this interest from Margarita Cortazar, the woman who has broken hearts all over the world?"

"How can that be, when I have never even left California, or even Los Angeles in the past three years?" Margarita scolded, her cheeks coloring.

"Ah, but there was the man from Spain, and the French one," Luis said. "Or was he Russian?"

Margarita rolled her eyes. "He wasn't Russian or French," she said, ducking her head. "He just had a strong accent. He was as Spanish as you or I am."

"Well, I suppose you'd know," Luis said slyly as the song ended, and he planted a kiss on her hand. "Speaking of, isn't it time for me to propose again?"

"You have asked me to marry you five times in two years," Margarita said. "I'm afraid that my answer hasn't changed."

"Well, could you at least spare me another dance?" Luis asked.

"I don't think so," Margarita said. "My apologies, but I want to go over to where my father is."

"Of course," Luis said, and guided her across the room; another dance had already started.

Margarita saw the glint of light all the way from across the room. Jewels; it had to be jewels. A diamond, gleaming in the moon and fire that lit the night sky.

She inhaled, almost seeing her mother, preparing for a dance, decked out in diamonds and rubies.

She was ten again, trying on the jewelry and being scolded. "No, that is for when you marry, Margarita!"

"But I do not want to marry," Margarita said under her breath. "I want to stay at home with father."

"What's that?" Luis asked as they neared her father, and Don Estevan, who stood talking to him holding the most brilliant jewel she'd ever seen.

She wanted the diamond.

"Nothing," she swore, as they reached her father. "Gracias, Luis."

"What's this?" Don Estevan exclaimed. "You have found a replacement for me?"

"No, of course not," Margarita said, laughing at his mock offended air. "But someone has to dance with me when you are busy."

"That was what Diego was for," Don Estevan returned, the diamond still flat in his palm.

Margarita reached to touch it, aware of the faux pas she was making, as it was in his hand, and neither were gloved, and they were not dancing as to make it acceptable.

Luis whistled, long and low. "That is a beautiful jewel," he said admiringly.

"Si, but it's no matter for you to worry over," Don Estevan said, effectively dismissing Luis, who amiably bowed and walked away.

"Is it a diamond?" Margarita breathed, turning it over in Don Estevan's palm. She felt his eyes on her hair and didn't care that he was staring at her.

"Well, I wouldn't call it that," Don Estevan said bashfully.

Margarita withdrew her hand from the diamond reluctantly, feeling her father's gaze on her hand now.

"You like the diamond, Margarita?" He asked. "It was also the one I most admired."

"It's like ice, and fire, all in one," Margarita murmured.

"I wish to repeat my offer," Don Marcos announced, and Margarita startled. "For the whole jewel pouch."

Don Estevan tucked the jewel away, an almost smug look on his face. "Please, Don Marcos, I do not wish to sound adamant, but that is not the reason I showed you the jewels! I'm not sure I can bring myself to part with them. Any of them!"

"But you will be returning to Spain! You can buy others! At least sell me the one diamond I admired, for my daughter," her father urged, and Margarita found that she was just as eager as he was for Don Estevan to accept the offer. Her father loved to buy her pretty things; this was one of the ones she'd truly wanted as well.

"It is the most beautiful stone I have ever seen," Margarita confessed, her eyes falling to where he'd placed the pouch in his vest.

"Ah, then perhaps you can understand my reluctance to part with it," Don Estevan answered, eyes twinkling.

Margarita felt keen disappointment.

"Suppose I offered one thousand, five hundred pesos," her father said baldly, his arm going around Margarita's waist as if to show Don Estevan how much his daughter meant to him; how close they were, what a disappointment it would be to her.

"Would that help you to change your mind?" Her father finished, his eyes on Don Estevan's face.

Now Don Estevan hesitated, showing rare patience in choosing his words. "Fifteen hundred pesos? Well, I—"

**_Don Estevan de la Cruz_ **

"It's alright, I'm not going to beat you," he told the deaf-mute, frustrated that his careful deal might have just been ruined by the man's clumsiness. After the whole evening of baiting Don Marcos! Fifteen hundred pesos for an imitation!

He felt a hand sneak inside his vest and wasn't surprised.

Margarita leaned forward, her words almost panicked. "He cannot hear you," she told him.

Estevan considered the words and wondered how to call him back there then, settling for an impatient gesture to show the forgotten wine bottle.

What a clumsy trick! Any one could have pulled that one off, on anyone but Estevan de la Cruz, who'd perfected such things.

His hand slid inside Bernardo's jacket (was he called Bernardo or was he thinking of Emanuela's servant in Madrid?) and took the pouch back.

Ah, only a master could pickpocket the thief!

Bernardo slipped away again and Don Marcos's arm left his daughter's waist as he stepped closer to Don Estevan, and he knew that the man was about to raise his offer. Well, now his conscience pricked him. They were not worth quite that much. Maybe he'd accept five hundred pesos. That wouldn't hurt his conscience.

"Really, Don Marcos, I'll have to be honest with you," "I do not think the diamond is worth fifteen hundred pesos, I mean, in the regular market in Spain," he finished, his only thought, I think I should be lucky to receive a hundred pesos, in Spain.

Unfortunately, his feint didn't work. "I am not discussing what it is worth on the regular market, I am discussing what it is worth to me, here, in California."

Well! His conscience was quite comfortable with those kind of words! If you were to place personal worth on things, why, anything could be worth fifteen hundred pesos!

He almost gave in.

Margarita's smile beckoned him to make the deal. After all, who could it hurt?

"I'll bring it to your hacienda tomorrow," he decided upon, after many words warred in his brain. "You can look it over then, see if it is still worth that much in the light of day."

* * *

The evening's events eased his conscience entirely. As Estevan sat in the sala, long after Diego and Alejandro had made their good nights and slipped up the bed, he considered the whole matter.

He'd heard the talk at the party. This Zorro…he was supposed to be a Robin Hood type of figure. He didn't rob people! Indeed, from what he heard from the slightly frantic guests, any time that Zorro had stolen, only days later had the real Zorro appeared to set the record straight.

Zorro was not a thief.

Was Estevan to expect another visit from the bandito, then? The real one, if this one had indeed been fake?

He blew the candle out in the sala and slipped onto the patio, looking up at the night sky. He realized that he now had no reason to go to Margarita's hacienda, and he was disappointed. She was a lovely girl. He might as well get…acquainted with her if he was, indeed, going to spend quite some time in Los Angeles.

**_Margarita Cortazar_ **

"The jewels…are they irretrievable, do you think?" Margarita asked her father on the drive home. After Estevan had been robbed, she had been unable to see the dashing caballero again. With Zorro's appearance, the party had become frantic, and when Zorro had left, the party had quieted to the point of death. People had made their adioses with an almost somber air, as if regretting the end of the evening.

"Considering things, I would have to say yes," her father replied. "I do not think anyone but God could retrieve something The Fox stole."

"It's quite a new thing," Margarita chanced to say. "Why should Zorro suddenly turn to petty theft?"

Her father sighed. "You saw those jewels, Margarita. They were incomparable to others like them. Obviously, he must have been a guest at the party, he saw them too and decided that he would have them when Estevan wouldn't sell!"

"I suppose," Margarita sighed. "I regret losing the diamond."

"So do I," Don Marcos said, patting her hand. "Sweet Margarita. You would have looked just like your mother in diamonds. I…" He glanced sideways at her. "It's a pity that you will only get to wear her diamonds when you become betrothed."

Margarita heard the hint in his voice. She knew how her father felt, but she shifted in her seat to avoid speaking about it further. Was she that transparent? Could he tell that she only wanted the diamond so that she could wear the jewels without marrying? "Si. But I would not care to break tradition."

Don Marcos sighed. "Of course not. But you would not have to, if…It wasn't for lack of offers, Margarita."

"It was from lack of interest," she replied. "I cannot marry a man that doesn't engage my whole soul, my entire being, like the way you captured mother's."

"I hesitate to put it that strongly," her father said. "Phelicia loved me, for certain, as I loved her."

"It was more than that," Margarita murmured. "I saw it in her eyes, the way Mama always spoke about you."

"You're going to give your father very pleasant dreams," Don Marcos responded.

She fell silent; his tone of voice suggested that was desired right now but her father would never say it outright. He didn't like to talk about his late wife unless he was the one to bring her up. It hurt too much otherwise. Margarita could understand that, but she couldn't understand how one day her father would hold her close and the next try to push her out of the nest.

They reached the hacienda and he helped her down from the carriage, as Santiago jumped forward to take care of the horses and carriage.

"Gracias," her father said to Vincento, who nodded as he jumped onto the carriage to drive it away.

Her father took her arm, tucking it to his side as he led her through the gate. "Margarita, Estevan is a charming man," he began. "I do not think it would harm anything, and surely no one would talk, if you were to accept should he…come by tomorrow asking if you wanted to go for a ride."

Margarita stopped dead in her tracks, and her father halted also. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"He asked me, before you came over, if he could come by in the next few days," Don Marcos explained. "I said, of course. He wondered if you were the type to ride, and I said yes. You do not mind, surely? I thought you enjoyed his company. You danced more than two dances with him in the beginning of the evening."

"Of course I don't mind," she denied, starting to walk again. "I was just surprised…father, Don Estevan told me the most marvelous story. That's why I gave him the second dance. I wanted to hear the end."

"Don't apologize, my dear," her father said. "He is quite a charming man. I'm glad you enjoyed his company."

They went their separate ways once they reached the top of the stairs. When Margarita entered her room, Diana waited there.

"Did you have a nice time?" The mother of three asked, darting forward to help her out of her dress.

The fastenings on the back came first. Margarita stood still as Diana's fingers moved up her back rapidly.

"It was quite lovely," Margarita answered slowly, trying to sort out her thoughts.

"It was on such short notice, you only got the invitation today!" Diana commented. "And it still impressed?"

"Definitely," Margarita said. "I think that was Don Estevan's doing. He was the guest of honor and he must have talked to everyone there, telling them fantastic tales of impossible exploits."

"He sounds like my cousin," Diana said happily. "He works on a ship that goes from Mexico City and back to here, and every time he visits he tells my children tales of monstrous marinas and sirenas."

"Does he do battle with them, or romance them?" Margarita asked, as the dress fell away from her body and she stepped out of it.

Diana whisked the dress to the closet as Margarita stepped over to her mirror, to look at herself.

"He will do battle with the legends until my children are old enough to appreciate a finely spun romance, and then he will marry one or two of them and have about twelve children, all endowed with magical powers," Diana explained and Margarita burst out laughing. "What about Don Estevan?"

"He would fall in love with several but at the end of the day, he would break away from their dark arts of amor," Margarita answered, as Diana hurried back to undo her corset. Fingers flew nimbly up the fastenings and Margarita took her deepest breath since she'd put the corset on earlier in the day, before the party. Those corsets were the worst to wear, by far.

"Ah, the ever roaming caballero," Diana said wistfully. "My husband used to be like that."

"And then what?" Margarita said. "He married you?"

Diana sighed. "Si," she said dreamily. "And then it was like he'd become a man overnight, instead of a dreaming caballero. Fair warning, Margarita, if I may offer it to you."

"What is it?" Margarita asked, her last party clothes finally off. She picked up her brush and sat down at her vanity, as Diana pulled pins from her hair.

"Some men will be able to do it," Diana said matter-of-factly. "Put away their childhood and their longing for adventure and fleeting romances. But some men won't." She met Margarita's eyes in the mirror as she took the brush from her and started to work its way through Margarita's thick hair. "You should figure out what type of man this Estevan is before you go any farther," she warned.

"It was not like that," Margarita protested.

Diana laughed. "You haven't acted like this since you were thirteen and Don Diego told you that you looked beautiful with your hair finally up and your skirts finally down."

"What are you implying?" Margarita wondered, faux irritation in her voice. "That I had a childhood romance with Don Diego or that I'm going to have one with his uncle?" She stood up, shaking her head. "His uncle!"

Diana shook her head. "Of course, neither of the two, Margarita," she corrected herself. "I was just teasing."

Margarita nodded as she climbed into bed, suddenly very tired. "Diana?" She asked as the woman started from the bedroom.

"Si, Margarita?" Diana asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Do I really not react when men flirt with me?" She asked. "Has it really been since I was thirteen since I showed true interest?"

Diana hesitated. "Si. Because it was when you were fourteen that your mother…passed."

Margarita could sense Diana crossing herself, and muttering the words that went with mentioning a dead person.

"Never mind," she whispered and Diana still paused in the doorway.

"Buenos noches," she told her charge.

"Mm," Margarita said and the door closed.

She lay awake that night, thinking things over, wondering the truth of Diana's tales. She didn't doubt that her maid would see things that Margarita could not, but it still hurt to be told that she was cold and uninterested.

_**Diego de la Vega** _

Many things occupied Diego's mind that night, not the least of which was the look on Margarita's face when she accepted his uncle's offer of a third dance.

What had she seen in him that was different from all of the men who'd passed through Los Angeles over the years and, almost inevitably, asked for her hand?

Margarita wasn't cold, and she wasn't some sort of ice queen. But she had walls that were higher than the ones used to box Rapunzel into her tower. She had guards, not ones who carried swords and threatened people, but who were so tightly packed and numerous that one almost gave up before he even started.

She didn't want love. She wanted fun and laughter. She wanted to forget her own pain.

Diego couldn't blame her for that. Love was tricky business and it always took from you. It rarely ever gave.

He looked out his bedroom window as Bernardo came in from the secret passage, speaking rapidly.

"What do I want to do with the jewels?" Diego asked, paying strict attention. "You know, I hadn't decided yet. They're most likely imitations, so I don't really want to give them away or someday someone might get in trouble for possessing them and trying to pass off fake jewels."

He frowned as he looked at the rainbow of gems in Bernardo's hand, and walked forward to pick up the diamond necklace.

"This one…this is the one everyone talked about," Diego said softly. "This is the one that everyone wanted to buy off of my uncle." He shook his head, holding it up to the light of the candle. "It is beautiful," he said. "It shines like the stars in the sky. Yet it is fake."

He shook his head again and handed it back to Bernardo. "I think I'll wait until my uncle has departed to decide," he answered. "Take them and hide them with Zorro's things."

He turned back to the window; to the warmth and coldness of the moon. La luna was definitely a study in contradictions, like so many things in Diego's life right now. She shed light upon the earth, beautiful, sparkling light. Light was supposed to be warm, and comforting. But la luna's light was cold. Cold as ice. Cold as a woman who only wanted love without fear.

There was no such thing.


	2. The Way It Might Yet Be

_**Estevan de la Cruz** _

He rose to a beautiful California day, and was immediately grateful to be where he was. He was so sick of Spain, of the pretenses and how everyone could see through him.

He'd come to California merely as a cooling off period, for everyone in Spain to forget a little about him, so that when he came back, brimming with tales of Alta California everyone listened and clustered near to him again.

He was sick of being written off, so he'd decided it was time to change his story. It was as easy as that. It was always as easy as that for Estevan de la Cruz.

As he bathed for his first time in weeks, he splashed the water merrily, scrubbing the soap all over.

"The dust is finally coming off of me," Estevan announced as he walked into the sala to greet Alejandro and Diego. "What is that verse in the bible about wiping dust from your sandals? Because that is how I feel about washing Spain off of me. I am ready for a new start."

"And for new dust?" Alejandro asked dryly.

"Si, si," Estevan said, sitting down at the table. "Where is my breakfast?"

"In the dining room," Alejandro replied. "You may go in there to eat."

"Why, I'd be so lonely," Estevan lamented and summoned the passing servant, Teresa. "Ey, could you fix me a plate and serve it to me in here?"

"Si, Don Estevan," Teresa nodded and darted from the room.

"Those are not part of her duties," Alejandro protested.

"I do not think she minds," Estevan said. "What is her name?"

"Teresa," Diego told him when Alejandro merely snorted and turned back to his correspondence.

"Teresa, muchos gracias for taking time out of your busy schedule to bring me food," Estevan said loudly when she returned. "You are a jewel among women and one of the best ones I have met so far."

"Gracias," she said, blushing a little.

Diego raised an eyebrow at it: Teresa was usually unflappable.

Estevan dug into his breakfast, noting the way that the female servants were casually, and not so casually, finding ways to come and peek at him, the ama de llaves in particular.

"Cresencia, you might as well ask instead of stare and hope for an answer," he finally said.

Cresencia jumped when she was caught and quickly started to dust again.

"Ask what, Don Estevan?" She wondered.

"What on earth I am doing back in California," he said, standing up and stretching. "Don Alejandro, that was a very good meal. May I compliment your chef or is the kitchen off limits?"

"Go where you will," Alejandro snorted.

"Could you show me the kitchen?" Estevan asked Cresencia and she plonked her hands on her hips.

"Of course," she snapped. "Follow me."

She led him at a quick pace and abandoned him at the door.

"Cresencia, do you still hold a grudge against me?" Estevan asked, catching her by the hand. "My tender heart apologizes and is most wounded that you have not forgotten my misstep yet."

"I have not forgiven you yet," Cresencia said, but her dimples had begun to make an appearance. "And even beyond that, you did not come back for your sister's funeral."

Ah. That was the thing. Estevan quieted for a moment. "You loved Isabella, didn't you?"

"She was a like a daughter, or a sister," Cresencia said. "She was your sister."

"I loved Isabella too," Estevan said. "That is why I could not come back. I could not think of her as being that way. Can't you understand that?"

Cresencia glared up at him. "No, I cannot," she said. "But I am merely a servant. Do not bother yourself with me."

"Fine," Estevan said and walked into the kitchen. There was a woman's cooking to be complimented and he'd be damned before he forgot.

**_Diego de la Vega_ **

Diego stayed in the sala until Estevan had returned from the kitchen. "Well, uncle what are your plans for the day?" He wondered aloud.

"I was thinking, we two should ride over to the Cortazars," Estevan said. "Don Marcos and Margarita were most welcoming and I rather wished to express my apologies for letting the jewels be stolen from me. Margarita truly admired that diamond necklace." Estevan shook his head sadly. "I hate the thought of her face when she hears that, in this night, I still haven't gotten it back from that Zorro scoundrel."

"I think Margarita will be fine," Diego said, taking a cigar. "She gets over things quickly."

"Does she?" Estevan asked, following suit. "I took her to by the type to hold things very closely in her heart, and never forget them."

"Well, that too," Diego said.

"She's a very beautiful woman," Estevan said.

"I'd never deny that," Diego agreed.

Estevan looked at him, an unsatisfied look on his face. "Is there something you are not telling me about Margarita?"

"Only that she has refused almost ten marriage proposals," Diego said casually.

"Aha, she has good taste," Estevan said. "A woman should never say yes to the first man that comes along."

"Or the first ten, eh?" Diego asked.

"How many were yours?" Estevan asked, the question piercing Diego.

"What do you mean?" He wondered, inhaling on the cigar but tasting none of the savory flavors and aromas.

"How many of the proposals were yours?" Estevan repeated, his voice slow and patient.

"Why, none," Diego replied. "We are just friends. Ever since I returned from Spain, that is all we have been. Nothing more, nothing less. I love her—"

"I knew it, you were just too afraid to speak up," Estevan interrupted. "Her beauty astounded you when you returned and then you learned that she had refused ten marriage proposals and you never dared approach her after that even though all the time you were in Spain, the only reason she said no to her lovers was because she was waiting for you! And you, too cowardly to approach her, have left her alone and waiting all this time! Diego, I am ashamed."

"Like a sister," Diego finished. "Please do not make up tales of Margarita's love life. Believe me," he began, the words hurting even as he said them. "Believe me, Margarita does not love or pine for me."

"And why not?" Estevan asked. "Are you not tall, handsome? Stop putting yourself down, Diego. You are my nephew, are you not?"

"What a winning recommendation," Diego said dryly. "I'd almost forgotten. Do you think I should mention that to Margarita, or do you think she knows?"

Estevan barely noticed that he was being teased, or maybe simply didn't care. Diego could never quite figure his uncle out.

"Diego, we are going right over there, right now!" He announced. "Put on your courting clothes, we are going to romance a Spanish lady!"

"I'm fine with what I am wearing," Diego said. "But if you wish to change, I'll fetch the horses."

"I don't need to change," Estevan said. "All my clothes are prepared just for moments like these. I always look the part."

"The part of what?" Diego wondered as they left the hacienda and headed for the barn. "Lothario?"

"You injure me," Estevan scowled. "Of the perfect…" A naughty look crept onto his face. "Duena."

Diego almost tripped over his own feet when Estevan said the words. "You, a duena?"

"Well, casamentero works too," Estevan said slyly.

Diego laughed, finally going along with his uncle. "Alright, you would make the perfect duena. I give in."

"Gracias," Estevan said, letting Diego guide him to the horse he'd be riding. "Now get me a better looking horse. I will not ride this nag."

"That is Princessa," Diego said, almost insulted on his father's behalf. "She is the finest horse in my father's stables."

"Oh," Estevan said, a frown on his face. "Don't you have anything white? That's the color knights wear, you know."

"The color knights ride," Diego corrected.

"What's the difference?" Estevan asked, brushing the words off. "Diego, are you getting quarrelsome in your old age?"

"I thought you were a duena not a knight," Diego said, as he gestured for the stable hand to come over.

"Do you have any white horses?" Estevan asked impatiently.

"Uh, no," Diego said, his mind going to one white horse he'd ever possessed and flinching from the memory.

"Well, I'll take this one, then," Estevan said, moving to the next horse.

"As I said, Princessa is the best horse in my father's stables," Diego insisted, going to his own horse, Torcedor.

"I will not ride her," Estevan said. "What is this one called?"

"Cabra vieja," Diego answered, swinging onto Torcedor's back.

"He's called what?" Estevan asked.

"Oh, the horse!" Diego exclaimed. "Prisa."

"That's more like it," Estevan said in relief and swung onto the horse's back. "Prisa, you and I are going to be great amigos," he announced. "You shall bear me everywhere."

"While you're here," Diego said, as they started out of the yard and onto the road.

"Of course," Estevan said.

"How long will you be here? I forget what you said last night," Diego edged.

"I didn't," Estevan answered and looked behind him at the sun. "Diego, I will be here until the sun falls out of the sky."

Diego rolled his eyes. "That is a long time indeed," he said.

Estevan chuckled. "Well, that's a bit too long, possibly," he said. "All right. I will stay here in Los Angeles until I am needed elsewhere. Does that satisfy you?"

"Oh, si," Diego answered and they rode on. In his mind, he thought, _I didn't realize you were needed here._

**_Margarita Cortazar_ **

Margarita was getting ready to go for her morning ride when Estevan and Diego appeared on her doorstep.

She, unknowingly, made quite a fetching picture as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, in her plain riding habit; her hair up in a mass of braids.

"You are here earlier than I thought you'd be," she greeted them, going towards them with her hands out.

"I do not remember setting a time," Estevan said, taking her hands and pressing a kiss to them. Margarita stared at him as he made the grand gesture, her heart skipping a beat at how unexpected it was.

"Margarita has great powers of premonition," Diego joked, taking her right hand after Estevan had released both of them and pressing a hasty kiss to the back of it. He looked at her as he did so; his gaze was intent.

Margarita's heart skipped another beat and she wasn't sure what to make of any of this. Men were a peso a dozen in her life, and the grander gestures, the more tired they made her.

So what was this?

"No, I have no powers of premonition," Margarita said. "You spoke to my father about coming over here, and besides, you were coming to talk about the jewels…before you lost them, of course."

"They were stolen," Estevan said stubbornly. "By that dog, Zorro!"

"That's quite a contradiction," Margarita said. "Let's go on. I am eager for my ride."

"Fine," Estevan said, eyeing Diego. Margarita waited a moment, wondering if either would offer their arm, but when neither did, she shrugged and walked towards the gate, passing between them.

Estevan dove forward and graciously took her arm. "I am a most lucky man to have you on my arm," he said enthusiastically as Diego followed them, folding his arms.

"I am the lucky one," Margarita denied. "Could you give me a boost up?"

"Of course," Estevan said. "What else am I here for?"

Margarita beamed at him. "Just to see me, I thought," she flirted and the beaming smile she received in return made her heart glow.

"Well, there is that," Estevan agreed, helping her onto Ave; her horse. "But how could I see you and not help you?"

She saw him glare at Diego as he got onto his own horse. "How could anyone?" He muttered and ran to his horse.

"That is Prisa, is it not?" She asked as they started on their ride.

"Si, it is," Estevan said. "He's quite a magnificent horse. He is going to be my boon companion while I am in Los Angeles."

"I thought I was going to be your boon companion," Diego said, urging Torcedor faster to keep up with them.

"Well, both of you, of course, Diego," Estevan said.

"Diego and I used to race our horses, along with Moneta Esperon," Margarita said happily. "We should ask her to come along."

She saw Estevan glance at Diego, then at Margarita. "Moneta Esperon. Was she the one who wore blue last night?"

"No, that was Isabella," Margarita corrected. "Moneta did not go to yesterday's fiesta."

"Why not?" Estevan asked, frowning. "Did she quarrel with Diego?"

"No, but she prefers not to go to parties when her father is away on business," Diego said. "Which he often is."

"She sounds like a dutiful daughter," Estevan said. "All right. Let's go see Moneta."

"The Esperon's hacienda is quite a bit away from here," Margarita began, meeting Estevan's gaze head on. "It could take quite a bit of time away from our ride."

"Oh?" Estevan said, and she could tell that he wondered why she'd suggested it.

"Unless we cut across this meadow," Margarita said, and turned Ave quite suddenly. "I think I will get there before you," she called behind her, her voice carrying on the wind.

Ave picked up speed at her lightest touch; Margarita had been riding this horse for years now, making it run and fly away from pushy suitors.

The wind whipped in her hair. She could hear Diego and Estevan's horses' hoof beats thundering behind her and she knew she'd stay in the lead, unless Estevan managed to pass her.

But then there was Diego, riding past her out of the corner of her eye. She gasped to see him and urged Ave to go harder, ride faster.

She met Diego's eyes: they sparkled at her, as they had so many years ago, before he went to Spain.

Before he returned from Spain, a mere shell of who he used to be.

She dug her legs into Ave's sides. "We can do this," she whispered into her horse's mane. "We can still pass him by."

Ave nickered in response and at the last moment passed Torcedor by; the horses neighed at each other. Torcedor seemed to be complaining that a mare had passed him and Ave seemed to be scolding him for doubting her abilities. Or so Margarita thought.

Margarita reached Moneta's hacienda first, and made Ave walk a little as she waited for Diego and Estevan to catch up, her breath coming in pants as she let Ave go to the water trough waiting outside the gate of one of the grandest haciendas in Los Angeles.

Ave filled her thirst and Margarita sat straight and tall in the saddle as Diego rode up.

"I'm afraid that my uncle overestimated Prisa's abilities," Diego apologized. "He should catch up with us soon."

"I let my fancies fly away with me," Margarita answered. "I shouldn't have raced."

Diego shrugged, dismounting Torcedor and leading his horse to the water.

Margarita waited, letting Ave dance sideways away from Torcedor. She wondered if Diego would help her down.

"It's quite a warm day," Diego said, shading his eyes as he looked at the sun behind him. "Or it soon will be."

He turned to her, and only then did he stride forward, holding his hand out. "Let me help you down," he murmured, slipping his hand into hers. She swung her leg over the side and slid down Ave's back, until she was standing in front of Diego and no longer sitting above him.

She was quite shorter than him. She wasn't sure that she liked this view of him better than her old one.

She looked up at him, focusing on his tanned face and the dark hair that curled around it.

"You changed so much," she commented, tipping her head. "Since you returned from Spain. And also when you left for Monterey and your return from there. You changed, Diego."

"I believe that people changing is inevitable," Diego said lightly. "Why should I hold out?"

She smiled, stepping away from him as Estevan rode up. "You two certainly led me on a merry chase," he scolded. "What was the idea back there?"

"It was an accident, I thought Prisa was a faster horse," Margarita apologized, stepping forward as he jumped off and tied Prisa to the post. "If I knew that it would be so hard for you to keep up with us, I wouldn't have raced."

"Well, I'll forgive you," Estevan said, stretching the words out. "You did make quite a fetching picture as you left me in the dust."

"Did I?" Margarita wondered. "Come on, let us go in to see Moneta. She'll be wondering what all the hoof beats were from."

She led them through the gate then, wondering how exactly she'd come to be in the lead. Moneta was leaning over the balcony, and she started down the stairs when she saw her friend.

"I was wondering what all the noise was," she said, reaching her hand out to Margarita. "And I see it's only you. It's been a long time since Ave has raced like that."

"Si," Margarita agreed, and gestured at Estevan. "Moneta, this is Don Estevan de la Cruz, Diego's uncle. Don Estevan, this is Senorita Moneta Esperon. Her father is Don Cornelius Esperon."

"I am most delighted to meet you," Estevan said, swooping Moneta's hand up and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I hear you refused to come to my welcoming fiesta at the de la Vega hacienda last night."

"My father travels often, and I do not like to attend fiestas when he is gone," Moneta said softly, subtly pulling her hand away from Estevan.

"Ah, but this was no normal fiesta," Estevan protested. "It was to welcome me. It was a grand occasion."

"I'm sure it was," Moneta said, smiling at him but there was a distinct detachment as she turned to Diego. "Diego, it's nice to see you."

"And it's lovely to see you, as always, Moneta," Diego said.

Margarita could have sworn she saw Moneta blush but the woman had been almost inscrutable as a child and now she was even harder to figure out.

"Also," Estevan began, unsatisfied with Moneta's lack of reaction. "In the midst of it, I was robbed."

Now Moneta showed interest. "Robbed?" She asked, her mouth falling open in surprise.

"By a man they called…what was it?" Estevan asked Diego.

"Zorro," Diego said, folding his arms.

"Si, Zorro!" Estevan said triumphantly.

"Zorro robbed you?" Moneta asked, her eyes wide. "Zorro?"

"Si, the soldiers will attest to it," Estevan said. "Correct, Margarita?"

"Si," Margarita said. "Estevan went to change his jacket after wine was spilled and then he came running down the stairs saying that he'd been robbed."

"Of what?" Moneta cried.

"Jewels," Estevan told her, definitely satisfied now with the way the young senorita was responding to his tale.

"The most beautiful diamond I'd ever seen," Margarita said enthusiastically. "I am not surprised that Zorro stole it; Don Estevan refused all suggestions of selling it."

"Well, I gave in to your father eventually, but that rascal took it away before we could complete the deal," Estevan said. "Now, Senorita Esperon, I see through the window that you have an excellent piano in your sala. Would you allow me to play it? I heard a new song on my way here and I'd love to teach it to you two senoritas."

"Moneta," Moneta said, as she led them to the sala.

"Hmm?" Estevan asked, slipping his arm through hers.

"Call me Moneta," she said and led him to the piano. Her hands slid over the top as she lifted the lid almost reverently. "Here you are."

"All right," Estevan said. "Now let me think. How did it go…"

His fingers took to the keys and he began to sing:

_Sweetest rose, come to your window_

_Darling flower, dance in my arms_

_Precious jewel, protect yourself_

_Until I rescue you_

Moneta frowned at the lyrics as he sang. Margarita, however unaffected by the lyrics as she was, still found his voice compelling, and as he neared the chorus she edged over to him.

_All I ask is a kiss_

_Just grant me this_

_We will dance forever_

_And love together now_

She joined in on the last line, her voice rising high and sweet.

"Ah, you have a beautiful voice," Estevan said. "Very nice. Now sing the rest of it." He began to restart the song, but Margarita felt that Moneta and Diego were looking at her and she blushed.

"No, no more singing, I am no vocalist," she demurred, but sat next to him on the bench after a moment.

Estevan smiled at her and moved over. "You will dazzle us with your skills on the piano now?" He asked.

"Let me think," she said, and then started to play a ballad that had become popular in Los Angeles sometime last year.

"Ah, I do like this tune," Moneta said, looking up from the book she'd pulled off of the shelf while Estevan played. "It's a pity that there are no lyrics for it."

Diego's gaze shot to her face, and Margarita wondered why.

"Well, I shall have to write them then," Estevan said. "Play it again, Margarita."

As she played, her fingers moving lazily over the keys, he began to hum.

_Mi amor…._

_Da da da da…._

_Mi amor…_

"That's a good start, anyway," Margarita said, finishing the song.

"I could do better, but this is hardly the atmosphere," Estevan complained. "This sala is so bright and sunny. I need moonlight and a rose scented air."

He smiled and got up from the piano. "Now Moneta, I do believe Diego and Margarita were lauding your skills as a horsewoman. You shall have to prove them correct when you ride with us to the de la Vega's for a picnic lunch."

Moneta's eyes sparkled, her book falling with a thump to an end table. "Really?" She asked. "Well, let me go change."

She hurried from the room and Margarita started after her. "We'll be back soon," she promised.

**_Estevan de la Cruz_ **

Estevan smiled at Diego in satisfaction. "You're right, Moneta is a lovely girl," he said. "Not as charming as Margarita, perhaps, but she has an attraction all her own. Which makes the question of why you have not married yet all the more puzzling."

"I'm sure that the countess in Madrid was equally, or more, charming than any senorita in Los Angeles, why did you not marry her?" Diego countered.

"I'm not the marrying kind," Estevan said. "You, however, are."

"Oh, how can you tell?" Diego said, going over to an armchair. "Do I exude an air of husbandliness?"

"No, but after a point, you can tell who should marry and, well, who should not," Estevan said. "You need a woman, Diego. Someone to stabilize you."

"Why do I need stabilizing?" Diego asked.

"Because you are all tipsy," Estevan said. "All of these corners of yours are just poking out where they shouldn't, I feel. You dance with Margarita but deny her perfection, you ride around Los Angeles with her and still don't see anything. You let your beloved uncle be robbed under your very roof! Diego, where were you when I was robbed?"

"I was in the sala, and I got caught up in the party guests when you ran down the stairs; what was I supposed to do?" Diego asked.

"Well, I don't know, but you won so many competitions in Spain, surely something!" Estevan said, remembering going to said competitions. My, it had been a beautiful sight. The flash of steel, the quick footwork…only the winners stood proud at the end. Diego had been standing every time.

His nephew froze before his very eyes. "Uncle Estevan…" He began. "Don't…I've put that part of my life behind me."

"What?" Estevan cried. "What are you talking about? Did you forget the feeling of triumph when you beat Marcos Fernandez? Or when the grand duke himself attended one of your matches! Or what about the viceroy's son, I don't remember his name? You had such fun at those competitions."

"Uncle, it's not part of my life anymore and I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring up bad memories," Diego complained, standing up. "I'm not the man I was back then, only caring about violence and swords."

"It is not violence, it's art," Estevan countered. "Diego, I never thought I'd see you like this."

"Well, then I am sorry to disappoint," Diego said.

Estevan looked at his nephew, and remembered the boy that had arrived in Spain: tall but gangly. He looked at Diego and he didn't see the man that had left, waving goodbye to his uncle while waving a trophy high in the air.

"What happened, my boy?" He asked softly.

Diego smiled. "Nothing," he said. "I just didn't want to be that man anymore. Don't worry, I will do anything you want while you're here. If you ask me to pick up a sword, well, I would. But that won't be necessary."

"This is most confusing," Estevan told him. "But…" He trailed off, remembering his father, and the disapproval he'd always faced from the man. "But I will respect your wishes. If that side of you is gone, it is gone!"

Diego's smile widened. "Gracias, uncle," he replied. "You always did have a knack for accepting people not as they were but as they are."

"People change," Estevan said. "Far be it from me to deny that."

He clapped his nephew on the shoulder as he walked past him, and for a moment he squeezed the straining muscles present there.

No, his nephew hadn't changed at all.

But maybe something else had.

The two senoritas finally came down the stairs again, talking and whispering. Estevan didn't miss the way that Margarita's gaze went to him, and not Diego.

Well, that was a bit troubling.

Oh well, he had lots of time to burn, and he might as well do it here, in Los Angeles.

He'd have Margarita and Diego married if it killed him.


End file.
